


As Cannon As Destiel Will Ever Be

by Mystical_Morrow



Series: As Cannon As Destiel Will Ever Be [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Biting, Blow Jobs, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Confused Castiel (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, Porn With Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Roughness, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Morrow/pseuds/Mystical_Morrow
Summary: If Destiel was cannon, how would it have happened and what would it look like?!The series runs alongside the show and in harmony with it, with the only difference being that Destiel becomes cannon (or as cannon as it will ever be)!I intend for all chapters to be set in between episodes, so don't worry - I won't be writing out the show in novel form, which can get repetitive! However, I can't make any promises - some scenes in the show are dying to be written with added insights into Dean and Cas's thoughts and all things Destiel!The series starts in Season 5 (though I may go back and add in some Season 4 flashbacks!) and I aim to continue all the way through to the shows end! The goal is to be able to rewatch the show and read this in tandem creating the ultimate Destiel viewing experience!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: As Cannon As Destiel Will Ever Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852159
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place between Season 5 Episode 3 ‘Free to be You and Me’ and Season 5 Episode 4 ‘The End’.
> 
> More notes at the end!

The car ride back from the abandoned warehouse had been fraught, with Cas sending concerned and not so subtle glances in Dean’s direction. Even so, Dean had not noticed Cas’s distressed looks, his focus having been solely on the road, with both hands wrapped around the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white.

Dean and Cas had been hunting a Djinn. A run of the mill hunt that had turned bad. It was always the everyday hunts that, when they went tits up, stuck with Dean. The ones that Dean would dream about for months, sometimes years. Dean’s nightmares didn’t consist of the creatures he hunted and slaughtered. When his nightmares weren’t centred around the unimaginable, quite literally unspeakable, things Dean had done in hell and the monster he had become, Dean’s nightmares were fuelled by the lifeless eyes of the people he couldn’t save. It was these every day hunts gone bad that haunted Dean’s dreams and would have haunted Cas’s were he to ever sleep.

“Dean -”

“Cas.” Dean interrupted, exasperated, all but begging Cas to drop it, but he didn’t.

“Dean, it wasn’t your fau-”

“Leave it.” Dean cut in.

“But, Dean. You couldn’t have done anything else, you did the best you could.” Cas knew better than to persist, but he couldn’t help himself. It was the truth after all - Dean had done everything he could, so had Cas. This time that just hadn’t been enough.

“Seven.” Dean’s voice was a barely audible whisper above the soft thrum of the Impala.

For a moment Cas said nothing, simply looking at Dean, wondering if he would continue. “Seven people, Cas. And two of them kids. Dead. Because I couldn’t do my fucking job.” Dean’s eyes never left the road as he whispered in the dark of the car, shadows and street lights dancing across his face.

“Dean, you did your job, it just wasn’t enough this time. It isn’t your fault. This doesn't all fall on you. It doesn’t all fall on your shoulders.”

“So they’re dead because the world is full of monsters.” Dean’s voice was raised and angry and Cas wondered if he had just imagined an accusation there. The elephant in the room, the unvoiced question, Cas could hear it now  _ ‘Where is your God in all of this, Cas?’ _ Cas knew Dean resented his faith and his search for God, but Cas also knew that Dean still held a fraction of hope and faith of his own. Dean’s head snapped towards Cas, his expression challenging Cas to tell him that he was wrong, daring Cas to disagree with him. “Evil sons of bitches just doing random evil shit, whenever they want, wherever they go. And, yeah, you might gank one, but then two more, hell, five more pop up and how many innocent humans die in all of it? So what if it’s not my fault? It’s my job. And seven more people are still dead.”

Cas let the force of Dean’s anger settle and fizzle before weakly attempting to offer words of comfort.

“You can’t save everyone, Dean.” Cas studied Dean, and though half obscured in shadow Cas could see the stoic expression that Dean wore. Once Cas had decided that Dean would not be saying anything for the remainder of the journey, he turned his head to face the passenger window and watched the rain drops, driven by the wind, streaming across the wing mirror.

  
  


***

Dean shoved the key in the lock and swung open the door of the motel room. The dirty moss green paint job of the door was peeling in several places and as it bounced off of the wall, flakes chipped off and fluttered to the ground. Dean flicked on the light, which lit the room in a dim yellow haze and took a few steps inside. He stood still for a moment before tossing his duffel towards the bed, mumbling something, turning on his heel and walking back out into the brisk November night air. Cas thought he might have made out the words ‘bar’ and ‘drink’ and ‘alone’.

***

Dean waved a hand at the bedraggled man working behind the bar. The man slid another beer over to Dean and refilled his whiskey glass. Dean nodded his thanks. He had lost track of how many he’d had now. The man’s gaze lingered on Dean, not for the first time that night.  _ Oh, my face _ , Dean realised. He must look like he’d gone ten rounds with, well, a fucking Djinn. Dean just stared right back at the man, wondering whether this was going to be a problem, whether the man was going to say anything. But he didn’t. They never did. Not in a place like this. The place smelt like booze, smoke and degeneracy and every surface was sticky to the touch. 

_ Touch. _

The image of the kid's fingers, the smaller one that couldn’t have been older than nine,  pushed itself to the front of Dean’s muddied thoughts. Why had Dean touched his fingers to hers. He hadn’t been able to help it. Her fingers had gone wrinkly from her blood that had pooled there in her hand, the way fingers go wrinkly from staying too long in a hot bath. Her face and neck were pasty white and tinged with blue from being drained of her blood.

If he had been better, if he had done better, if he had found them sooner. If he hadn't fucked up. The kid might have made it. Others might have made it. If he could have just saved a few of them, half of them even. If he could have just saved one. One person. But he hadn’t.

Dean took a long pull of his beer and twisted on his stool, back pressed against the bar, letting his eyes scan through the joint. This is where Dean would look for distraction in the arms of a nameless woman. He’d then usually kick Sam out of their motel room for an hour, no doubt eliciting a classic Sam Winchester bitch-face from his little brother.

Dean’s face twisted into a grimace at the thought of his brother. His brother who was not here, but out there somewhere doing who knows what. It’s not that Dean wanted him here - he definitely didn’t want him here - sometimes Dean thought he couldn't even bear to look at Sam. But of course that hurt all the more because Dean saw the shame and regret in Sam’s eyes when he knew that Dean couldn’t stand to look at him. Dean just wasn’t sure he wanted his little brother out there either. Sam was his responsibility, but Dean had fucked that up too and then sent Sam off when he couldn't deal. 

_ If you can’t save him, Dean, you have to kill him. _

The words surfaced in Dean’s head, taking him off guard. He hadn’t thought about those words in a long time. He hadn’t thought about the way his Dad’s voice was raspy and desperate, the way his eyes pried at Dean’s or the way his hand had gripped Dean’s shirt urgently. 

_ Fuck you _ , Dean thought suddenly.  _ Fuck you for putting that on me and fuck Sam for betraying me.  _ Dean let the bitterness swell deep in his gut, but it faded quickly and easily. 

Dean couldn’t kill Sam and he didn’t save him and he didn’t save those seven people today. Dean wondered what their names had been. He knew two of them, Sarah West and Rob Thompson, they had been missing for 2 weeks, but the rest were nameless bodies to him.

He took another long drink of beer, the only thing keeping his hand from shaking was sheer force of will and the fact that since Dean had sat down at the bar he had felt like his hands were made of lead. In fact Dean’s entire body felt heavy like deadweight lead, only held together by resentment, liquor, guilt and that ever present flicker of rebellion.  _ Fuck monsters, fuck demons, fuck angels, fuck Lucifer and fuck God too if he’s out there, _ Dean Winchester thought. 

He spun back around in his stool and raised his glass.  _ This one’s for you, God, you absent son of a bitch, _ Dean thought dryly. He downed the last of his whiskey, cheap crap that burnt the back of his throat painfully and perfectly on its way down. There was no one here to help distract him, just a couple of old drunks stewing in regret and self-pity like Dean. 

_ Fuck, _ he thought. Maybe he could go for a long drive. He threw some money down and strode out of the bar. 

The air was crisp and refreshing and when Dean took a deep breath his lungs felt both like fire from the whiskey and ice from the cold. Dean exhaled and watched a cloud of his breath float and disappear over the roof of the Impala. He sits down and positions himself behind the wheel, prompting the realisation that he’s too far gone for the long aimless drive he had counted on. Dean slams both hands against the steering wheel in frustration and lets his head hit against its hard leather. He stays that way for a moment before cursing once more, putting her into drive and heading back to the motel. He has whiskey back at the motel.

***

The door slammed shut behind Dean, which left Cas alone in the room studying the closed door. Ordinarily Cas would have taken that as his cue to leave, but Cas simply stood there staring, arms dangling by his sides. He briefly considered leaving, but then where would he go? He couldn’t return to heaven. He had been cast out. He had fallen. And truth be told, right now, right here in this motel room somewhere off of I-35, Cas was tired. He was tired often these days. He thought that’s what it was anyway - tired. How could he know? He had never felt tired before.

Why was he even here, with Dean, hunting a Djinn? Because he’d been searching for God and still there was nothing. No sign, no presence, no hope. Maybe Raphael had been right - maybe God was dead. Or gone. Either way, he wasn’t here.

The absence of heaven’s power behind him, made him weak and weary. All his efforts that night to save those people had been futile. He was no longer an angel of the garrison. Without his connection to heaven Cas felt a gaping hole inside of him. Whether that hole inside him was something physical, something actually missing now that he had fallen, or simply a manifestation of his distress and doubt, he could not tell. He had lost much of his power, but he also felt lacking in something else.

Perhaps tonight it was simply the result of bearing witness to wanton disregard for human life. Perhaps it was simply that tonight, seven people had died and he could do nothing to stop it. Well, not all seven had died tonight. From what Cas could tell, five of them including one of the children, had been dead for some time. Dead and left to rot and eventually shrivel and droop from the chains that bound them to the ceiling. Cas had been around since the dawn of time. He had seen worse horrors than those he had come upon in that warehouse tonight, and yet here he was alone in a motel room replaying the shocked and harrowed expression on that child's face when his throat was slit just hours ago.

Cas also wasn’t sure when he had begun to feel for humans. At first he had loved and served them because he had been told to. But after a millennia, as he watched them, as he saved them and as he smote them, somewhere along the line he had begun to love them. Envy them even. Envy their passion, their pain, their freedom. He knew Dean would explode if he knew that. If he knew that Cas envied humans their freedom. He knew Dean never thought of himself as free, but rather as a rat in a cage being pushed and pulled by heaven and hell. Not that that ever stopped Dean from chasing freedom. But compared to Cas, Dean was freedom incarnate.

Cas remembered when he had been told to go to Dean at the rising of Sam Hain and carry out the man’s orders, whatever they were to be. Cas had not expected Dean to do what he did. He had not expected Dean to call Uriel ‘chuckles’ and righteously tell heaven to go screw itself. He had not expected Dean to tell him that he would save the insignificant little town, not consent to its destruction. That was when Cas’s doubt had really wormed its way in and reared its tempting, treacherous head. If this man, this one broken man and his brother, could do more good than Cas had done at heaven’s bidding in centuries, then how could heaven be trusted? How could his orders be sacred? How could they come from God?

So here he was, a fallen angel, run down and tired, alone in a motel room somewhere just outside of Des Moines. He sighed. He was becoming more human, he knew, and it scared him. An angel without heaven was a lonely creature.

He dimly became aware of a faint buzzing noise. The light, he realised. Cas walked over to the door, flipped the lightswitch and let darkness envelope him. A stream of light poured through the window landing on the coffee table, illuminating the room ever so slightly. Cas decided then not to fight it, but to embrace this new found humanity. He shucked off his trenchcoat, followed by his suit jacket and flung them over the hook on the back of the door. He would sit down and see if he could get drunk. That was what humans did when they felt how he felt.

***

Dean stumbled back into the room two hours later at around 1am. The sudden sound of keys being tossed, clattering and scraping across the surface of the glass counter jarring to Cas after having spent so long sat in quiet. At the disturbance, Cas turned his head to see Dean rummaging through his duffel bag, obviously looking for something. Not finding it, Dean dropped his duffel to the floor and scanned the room. His eyes settled on the now almost empty whiskey bottle sat atop the coffee table in front of Cas. 

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise at the glass in front of Cas as he looked from the glass, to Cas, and back again, before shrugging almost imperceptibly and fetching a glass of his own from the dingy motel cabinet. 

“You’re still here.” Dean stated. Cas wasn’t sure if it was a question. 

He looked down at himself. “Yes, I’m still here.” He replied matter of factly.

“Why’re you sittin’ in the dark like that?” Dean slurred, his inebriated state making his Midwestern accent more pronounced than usual.

“The light was vexing. Besides, Dean, I’m an angel, I have excellent vision, day or night.”

Dean grunted in response, but made no move to turn on a light.

The dubiously stained three-seater sofa creaked as Dean fell into the seat beside Cas. Dean opened the bottle of whiskey sending the cap tinkering across the table, poured himself a drink, threw it back, slammed the glass back to the table with the heavy-handed force that comes from being drunk and numb on beer and whiskey, and then refilled the glass. This time Dean picked up the glass without drinking, leaned back in his seat and let the glass rest upon his knee.

The silence hung heavy in the air between them. Besides Dean’s gruff and curt mumbling, the two had hardly exchanged words.

“Here, let me.” Cas extended two fingers towards Dean’s temple. Dean’s forehead sported a large blue lump, his left eye was now turning a deep shade of purple, his bottom lip was split and protruding and remnants of dried blood clung to his hairline. Before Cas could heal him, his hand was swatted away.

“No.” Dean growled, turning away. Whilst he was no longer buzzing with adrenaline and anger like a live wire, his body was rigid and tense.

Cas let his arm fall back to his side, irritated by Dean’s stubborn self-punishment, but unwilling to fight him on it. Cas was unsure of whether he would even be able to heal him now, as minor as his injuries were. If he wanted to suffer, so be it. Sometimes it actually seemed to help him. 

Cas raised his own glass to his lips, but found the drink empty. He didn’t remember finishing it. He reached across the sofa for the whiskey bottle now perched precariously on the edge of the table, but his arm was stopped midway as Dean caught his wrist. Cas was close enough that his blue tie hung below him brushing the top of Dean’s thigh and Dean was hit with the sweet smell of whiskey from Cas’s lips. For a moment Dean simply held Cas’s arm there, unmoving, with his fingers clamped down around the sleeve of Cas’s shirt. Dean wondered whether Cas, an angel, was drunk and whether that was even possible. It was a human vessel, he supposed. Cas felt Dean’s grip loosen and thought he was about to release him when it tightened again and pulled his arm closer. Slowly, Dean lent forward, carefully placing his glass on the table.

Dean wrapped a calloused hand around the back of Cas’s neck and pulled his face closer before pressing his lips roughly against Cas’s. The kiss was closed-mouthed, firm and brief. Dean pulled away, removing his hand from Cas’s neck but maintaining the grip on his wrist. Unsure, Cas raked his eyes over Dean’s face for an explanation, but found none. Dean waited quietly, his eyes downturned, fixated on the table and unable to meet Cas’s.

“Dean?” Cas’s words were swallowed by the room and Dean’s only response was to slowly close his eyes. ‘Dean, what… I’m an angel. And I thought you-”

“Cas…just...” Dean croaked. “I just need -” Dean’s words died on Cas’s lips as Cas returned the kiss, mimicking the way Dean had kissed him. Cas wasn’t sure what had given him the  cognizance to do it. Something about the word ‘need’ had resonated with him. Something about the whiskey pumping through his blood had fuelled him.

When Cas leaned away, Dean’s hand grabbed the scruff of Cas’s shirt in his fist and pulled him back, kissing him in earnest this time. The kiss was unreserved and desperate now. Their mouths opened to one another, their tongues searching and hungry.

Dean ran his hand from Cas’s chest up to the back of his head, fastening his grip in his hair and tilting Cas’s head backwards. Dean planted rushed, sloppy kisses along Cas’s jaw enjoying the rough scratch of stubble against his lips. He paused, his lips brushing against Cas’s neck below his ear, his warm breath over Cas’s earlobe teasing goosebumps from Cas’s skin. Dean bit down gently, scraping his teeth along the exposed skin, eliciting a surprised moan from Cas. The sound made Dean’s cock, already half-hard, twitch and press uncomfortably against his jeans. Dean brought his mouth back to Cas’s, needing to feel his hot mouth back on his.

Cas could taste the beer on Dean’s lips that were so soft and full. Cas bit down on Dean’s bottom lip and sucked it, needing to taste more of him. Dean groaned in pain and pleasure as his split lip leaked a drop of fresh blood. The metallic taste of the blood awakened something deep and primal in Dean then. He became more forceful, more needy, kissing Cas ever more fervently. 

He pushed Cas onto his back so that he was laying on the sofa, his legs entangled with Dean’s, and held himself over Cas’s body, eagerly pressing his lips back to Cas’s, as if distressed at ever having had to have broken the kiss to begin with. Their kisses became uncoordinated, all tongue and teeth, driving Dean mad with lust.

Cas was dimly aware of his own hands running from the base of Dean’s spine, up over his back and coming to rest on his muscled shoulders, the leather of Dean’s jacket squeaking under his fingertips. Cas lay beneath Dean’s warm body, almost crushed under the gratifying weight of him. With each breath Cas found himself enveloped in the scent of leather, smoke, beer and something distinctly Dean. He let his hands roam over Dean’s body, he was aching to find skin. Cas slipped his hands under Dean’s jacket and shirt and slid his hand up over his torso, basking in the feel of it, tracing every inch of muscle, so soft and firm. His skin was radiating heat and the overwhelming sensation of it drew more noises from Cas. Cas had always thought of humans as delicate, vulnerable things, but pinned here beneath his body, Cas was acutely aware of the power and strength he possessed. Not cosmic power like Cas, but something so real and tangible. The allure of it, the raw physicality of it and the feel of all Dean’s power and strength focused on Cas, was intoxicating.

The creaking of the leather coupled with Cas’s disoriented moans were the most erotic sounds Dean had ever heard. And suddenly he needed more. He tugged recklessly at Cas’s shirt, fabric tearing away to expose his bare breastbone. Dean ducked his head down to breathe in the scent of him and feel the heat of him against his face. He brushed his lips along Cas’ collar bone and as he bit down on the firm flesh of Cas’ breast leaving red indentations, he pressed his hard cock, still straining against the zipper of his jeans, down into Cas’s crotch, desperate for some friction and relief. The exquisite pressure of it drew out a groan from deep within Dean. When Cas began pushing back up into him, Dean felt Cas’s equally hard cock and Dean thought he might come there and then in his pants like a teenager. 

They continued that way for a few minutes that passed by in what felt like seconds, rutting against each other, fumbling in the dark, clumsy and animalistic. The quiet of the motel room pierced by their laboured grunts and the creaking of the sofa as they settled into a rhythm.

Cas found himself clinging to Dean’s shoulders, pressing his whole body up into him needing to be somehow closer. He dug his fingernails into Dean’s flesh and dragged them down his back. As he did, Dean hissed at the perfect pain of it, causing his hips to jerk towards Cas. A single trickle of sweat rolled off of Dean’s temple and dropped onto Cas’s bare chest.

Cas looked up and their eyes met for the first time since Dean had returned from the bar. And just before Dean hastily looked away, cheeks flushed and scowling, Cas saw it in the light green of his eyes - his yearning, his desire, his uncertainty. And Cas understood what it was that Dean needed from him. Cas felt relief as he realised that if there was a way to give Dean some peace, then Cas would take pleasure in providing it to him. Cas found that the thought of it offered him some peace of his own in return.

Cas placed his hands flat against Dean’s chest and pushed, rolling him off of him and onto the floor with a dull thud. The bottle of whiskey tipped off the edge of the table and fell to the floor, its contents seeping out onto the faded, shaggy carpet. The unexpected maneuver and the force of his landing pushed the air from Dean’s lungs, but before he could look questioningly at Cas, Cas had himself rolled off the sofa and onto Dean. With one hand Cas roughly shoved Dean’s t-shirt up to his chest, and with his other he pinned Dean’s hands to the ground in a grip that was sure to leave bruises. He knew Dean wanted this - needed this. The roughness of it and the pleasure of it jolting him out of his haunted state.

Cas grinded against Dean, enraptured in these sensations that Cas had never imagined were possible, or at least had never imagined he’d experience. Cas lowered his mouth to Dean’s nipple and flicked his tongue across it, causing Dean’s hips to jerk in that way that Cas had begun to go crazy for. He pinched the nipple between his teeth, gently at first, then harder and harder until Dean moaned beneath him, a guttural groan that rumbled through his chest. Dean writhed beneath Cas, the rub of the carpet burning against his bare back.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was hoarse and breathy. “Wanna touch.” Cas moved his mouth to Dean’s other nipple and sucked mercilessly. Dean whimpered, “Cas, c’mon.”

Cas released Dean’s wrists and Dean’s hands began exploring Cas’s body. First pawing roughly at Cas’s torso, then gripping Cas’s ass and pulling down as he pushed up into him. Dean placed a leg between Cas’s so that their thighs provided the friction against their cocks that they so desperately needed. 

Both men were hot and sticky and panting on the floor. And still it wasn’t enough. Dean brought his hand around to Cas’s front and palmed his cock through through the thin fabric, successfully inducing another blissed out moan from Cas and a possessive growl from Dean. Dean’s hands set to work, clumsily unbuckling Cas’s belt and unzipping his fly. Dean’s mouth watered at the sight of Cas’s cock dripping precum into his hand and had he not been God knows how many whiskeys deep he would have blushed in shame. Drunk as he was, he brushed a thumb over the head of Cas’s cock, raised his thumb to his mouth and sucked at it greedily. The salty bitter taste made Dean’s own cock leak precum in anticipation, prompting Dean to reach down to work open his own belt, but Cas had beaten him to it. Cas’s inexperienced hands yanked down Dean’s jeans and boxers as best he could whilst the man was pressed hard against the floor and Dean’s cock, thick and heavy, slapped up against his abdomen. Cas wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and mimicked the jerking motion and pace that Dean was using on his own cock. It was dry, rough, dirty and utter perfection, Dean thought.

Dean knew he was getting close, and seeing Cas’s eyes roll back in his head the way they were and hearing the throaty noises Cas was making let him know that Cas was close too. He wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and jerked them off together. The heat emanating from Cas’s throbbing cock against his own sent Dean hurtling ever closer to that sweet release.

“Dean… Dean, I think… think I’m gonna...” Cas’s voice was strained and rasping.

“Me too.” Dean moaned. “Come for me Cas.” Dean had no idea what had possessed him to say it or where those words had come from, but at that moment he didn’t care. Cas’s cock twitched violently in his hand and spurt after spurt of come gushed out between his fingers and hit Dean’s stomach as Cas cried out Dean’s name. The sound of his name on the angel’s lips, the sensation of Cas’s cock throbbing in his hand and the sight of himself covered in Cas’s come, sent Dean over the edge. His orgasm hit him hard and he cried out as he came, his come landing on Cas’s ripped shirt and Dean’s own jaw.

Cas collapsed on Dean pinning him to the floor. They laid there for a while breathing heavily, muscles aching deliciously, with their come intermingled and pressed between their stomachs.

Dean was the first to stir, causing Cas to lift his head slightly to look at Dean, whose eyes were cast down once more. Cas wondered whether he was avoiding looking at him. 

“I think we’re, uh, gonna wanna move now.” Dean said softly, but surely. “Before we, uh, get stuck, ya know.”

Cas shifted his weight off of Dean, but stopped, looking at Dean’s face. Before he had a chance to think about it he had leaned down and licked hesitantly at Dean’s jaw, cleaning the come that had been there. He set a light, chaste kiss in its place before lifting his head back up.

“Um, thanks.” Dean said, somewhat unsure of himself and the situation, but finally letting his eyes meet Cas’s. Cas didn’t see regret or shame there, as he had expected, he just saw Dean. The same Dean he always saw, albeit a slightly more tousled one. “Really though Cas... getting kind of, er, stuck here.” Dean jutted his chin towards their stomachs.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Cas said, before lifting himself up and off of Dean.

Both men stood in silence attempting to right their clothes.

Dean cleared his throat, “I’m just gonna take a shower now.” Without waiting for a response he closed the gap to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

When he emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, there was no sign of Cas, but the whiskey bottle they had disturbed still lay on its side. The last dribbles of whiskey had stained the carpet.

***

Dean tapped his finger idly against Baby’s steering wheel. He was gunning it down the highway, impatient to reach Kansas City and find a motel. The sun had set over an hour ago and in the pitch black, the trees, signs and road markings, slick with rain, rushed past to become a distant blur. The unrelenting downpour hadn’t stopped since he’d hit the road in the dead of night almost fifteen hours ago. He was exhausted.

Without Sam, the Impala felt unnaturally quiet and now that Cas wasn’t with him either it felt plain empty.  _ Peaceful _ , he corrected himself -  _ it felt peaceful. _ Just him and the road. No family drama, no one to take care of. Who needed family, who needed company, when the fate of the world rested precariously on your shoulders.

In that moment, something a woman had once said to him resurfaced in his mind.  _ You need to be needed. _ It was about a year ago, after he’d come back from hell and Sam had gone out for the night to see a movie, which in hindsight, Dean only just now realises must have been a lame excuse to cover up sneaking off to meet Ruby. Dean had sat in their motel room watching pay per view, but the TV had fritzed out and Dean had found that without the loud droning of the TV, the silence in the room had been deafening. He knew that if he didn’t get out of that room right then and go somewhere just to keep moving and stay distracted, his mind would have taken him right back to hell. Right back to that rack. And right back to Alistair. 

He’d gone out and gotten himself shitfaced, par for the course for Dean now. The only novelty having been that he had found himself spilling all of his bullshit concerns about Sam to this woman that had latched onto him. He had enough presence of mind to withhold all the details that would have landed him in the closest loony bin, but he’d had enough whiskey and enough memories of hell constantly chipping away at him, that he’d just broken and told her all about Sam. The woman had stroked her hand through his hair, gently scratched the back of his neck and told him that all his struggles, all his guilt, all of it was because he needed to be needed, he needed to protect everyone and that, in essence, he couldn’t function if he wasn’t taking care of Sam. That observation, from a total stranger, had instantly sobered him. He had hastily muttered some excuses in her general direction and staggered back to the motel. 

A year later and he can’t even remember what he had said to prompt such a discernment from this woman, whose face he can hardly recollect. What had he said that had allowed her to hit the nail on the head so fucking brutally and casually? _ I’m good with going it alone and I don’t need to be needed _ , Dean thought indignantly, forcing out a derisive puff of air from his nose. 

Ganking the devil. That was what Dean had to focus on. What he  _ needed _ was a way to kill Lucifer. He needed to call Cas and come up with some sort of half-assed, guns blazing plan. So long as Cas wasn’t too preoccupied with his search for the man upstairs, Dean thought, suppressing an eye roll. Guilt twinged in Dean; of course Cas wouldn’t be too preoccupied. Every time Dean ever asked for anything lately, all it took was a quick prayer and there he was with a sombre ‘Hello, Dean.’ The trenchcoat-clad nerd with wings was the only one Dean could count on these days.

He felt guilt seep into him once more as he thought back to that night last week. What had he been thinking? It was Cas. Yes, there had always been _something_ there, but Dean had never even entertained the thought. Cas wasn’t even human. And it’s not like there was ever a moment to consider it; it was the fucking apocalypse and they didn’t have time for this. Whatever ‘this’ was. And God knows what Cas was thinking about it now. Dean had spoken to him on the phone since and all had seemed normal, neither of them broaching the topic of what had happened. _And, God damn it, stop it,_ he growled internally, _stop wondering whether he’s thinking about it,_ _you’re a grown man not some horny teen_. And what if Sam or Bobby found out - or another dick angel for that matter. Dean didn’t think he would ever hear the end of it or ever live it down. 

_ Fuck. _

Dean wondered if Sam knew about him. He’d never exactly hidden it per se, but he had certainly never mentioned it. This thing about him. Why would he? He’d only ever been with one guy.  _ One guy and a friggin’ angel, _ he thought, breaking out in a smirk.  _ Dean Winchester, God’s gift to women... and now angels. _

Dean had always looked at men the way he looked at women, but it was simply easier to let everyone believe, as they already assumed, that he was only interested in women. That and it was easier for Dean to bury that secret way, way down with all the other burdensome crap he carried around and hope no one ever noticed. Looking was enough, he had always told himself. Except for that one time when he was twenty-three. Sammy was away at Stanford, his dad was off working a case, so he’d found himself a case of his own. It wasn’t his first solo case, but it was close to it. 

He’d had a few drinks at a local dive bar and was feeling pretty good about wrapping up the case, even if it was a straightforward salt and burn. There had been a man, well-built and around Dean’s height, who had been glancing at Dean all night. Dean, ever suspicious and on guard, had been wondering what this guy's problem was and had subconsciously been preparing for a fight, though what he had done to warrant it he had no idea. It wasn’t until the man had walked right up to Dean that he had realised why the man had been eyeing him all night.

“Hey, do you, er, wanna get out of here and go someplace else?” There had been a long pregnant pause before Dean answered him and the guy had almost walked away. Dean recalled his surprise, or more accurately, downright shock, at the offer. He must have looked ridiculous, mouth agape just staring back at the man. Dean remembered thinking that the man didn’t even look gay, that he looked just like your average guy. 

He swiped a hand over his jaw and chuckled at his past self for ever having thought such a thing - what did he think gay was meant to look like? 

At the time, it had suddenly hit him that years of deep-seated offhand homophobic comments from his dad and other hunters and internalised homophobia had made him a douche. He realised then that he could look at men and not have to start prancing around wearing glitter. He would still be who he had always been. And even if he did want to prance around wearing glitter, well, anyone who had a problem with it could get bent. Not that he wanted to prance around wearing glitter he thought wryly.

Once they had left the bar together, a question had burned away at him until he gave in and asked the guy. “How did you know? Ya know… about me?”

The man had been confused at first. “About you? Oh, you mean how did I know you’re into guys?” Dean nodded. “I guess I didn’t for sure.” He’d told him, winking at Dean, as if it was the easiest most normal thing in the world, to have picked up another dude at the bar.

There was something about the confidence that Dean assumed that must have taken. To walk up to a guy, especially in a place like that, not knowing if you were going to get lucky, get rejected or get punched six ways from Sunday. If this guy could walk around not giving a fuck, why shouldn’t he? That was what Dean had told himself that night. Despite that, he’d never mentioned it to Sam and certainly not to his Dad, or to anyone else for that matter. It just wasn’t anyone’s goddamn business. Besides letting people believe he was interested in women wasn’t a lie - he was interested in women, just not exclusively.

But now he was apparently banging women, men and angels, he thought dryly. Dean consoled himself with the fact that it was a one time, drunken thing that had happened and was done now and it never had to be spoken of or thought about again. So, Dean spent the remainder of the drive doing just that - not fucking thinking about it.

It was another hour before he pulled up to the side of the road, finally having arrived and located a motel. He swung open his door, grabbed his duffel from the passenger seat and started towards the motel.

“Excuse me, friend, but have you taken the time out to think about God’s plan for you?” A clean-shaven, intense-looking man with a stack of ‘God is Love’ flyers stood in front of him. Dean slowed and turned towards him.  _ The irony _ , he thought.

“Too friggin’ much, pal.”


	2. A Well-Oiled System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Season 5 Episode 10 ‘Abandon All Hope.'
> 
> Ellen and Jo's deaths and the fall-out from episode 10 weigh heavily on Dean's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the chapter summary says, this chapter takes place after Season 5 Episode 10 ‘Abandon All Hope.'
> 
> Sorry for the delay between the first chapter and this one! Future updates should be much faster as I already have a couple of future chapters written!

Dean wondered if Sam knew what he really did when he left at times like this. It was never explicitly stated, but it was assumed that Dean drove off somewhere, got wasted, found someone to fuck him senseless and then came back with a hangover, a smirk and his issues freshly buried once again. And then they got back to work.

Sometimes that is what Dean did. Sometimes Dean would seek out anonymous sex, or sometimes, if he was slightly more worse for wear, he would hustle pool and belt out some karaoke until he was kicked out of whatever dive he was in. But the truth was that most of the time he simply found a bar, drank beer and whiskey in stony silence, ate stale sub-par nachos and then stumbled back to a motel, or even just the back of the impala, and slept for as long as he could.

When he woke up the next day he usually felt so wrecked he didn’t have time to be caught up in whatever bullshit was swirling around in the back of his head and so he’d drive back to wherever he’d left Sam, plaster on a famous Dean Winchester grin and ask Sammy why he was so uptight and never got laid. On the rare occasions that Dean found he couldn’t muster up a devil-may-care attitude, he’d return to Sam in silence with a blank expression. If Sam hadn’t found a case for them in the time he was gone, Dean would make sure he hunted one down so that he could hurtle right towards it, nevermind how little there was to go on or whether the case really was their kind of thing or just some random batshit humans brutalising one another. Sam would shoot Dean a look in an attempt at coaxing Dean into spewing out his feelings and letting them sit in the open.

Sam would sigh, “Dean, you can’t just-”

“Sam.” Dean would interrupt, rolling his eyes, before telling Sam they were leaving for a case.

Sam wanted Dean to feel and to share, but Dean couldn’t. Dean hadn’t always been so closed off. He’d never been one to sit and cry as someone held his hand, but he’d also never had to drink as much as he had been for the last couple of years. And he didn’t know if it was the job or the drink that had him sleeping so little, but he barely slept more than three or four hours a night. Ever since hell and the nightmares and the flashbacks and the guilt and the fear… there was no coming back from that. You couldn’t peek back into that pit of darkness, you just had to keep moving, keep outpacing it. It was a matter of acknowledging it, burying it and surviving or analysing it, giving it power and crumbling. There was no recovery, not really. So, the system Dean had in place may not satisfy Sam’s touchy feely standards, but it was a well-oiled system and Dean knew where he stood with it and most of the time he was good with it.

Tonight had started out as a sit in the corner drinking alone kind of night, but had somehow mutated into a hustle pool, sing karaoke, drink too much and get kicked out of the bar kind of night.

Dean had settled into a booth in the back corner of the bar and set his focus to drinking as much whiskey as was necessary for the image of Jo’s torn to shreds abdomen to be forced from his mind’s eye. Dean wanted to be angry at the world, or at Lucifer or at the angels, he wanted to blame them for Jo and Ellen’s deaths, but his white hot rage was only directed at himself. Anger had become Dean’s natural state. When things went bad, when someone got hurt, when Dean felt anything, this anger would come broiling up inside him seemingly out of nowhere. As it turned out, it took an obscene amount of whiskey for Jo’s clammy pale face and Ellen’s shocked tears to leave Dean’s head. The more whiskey he had the less rage he felt and the more the guilt seeped into him and settled uncomfortably in his bones. Ellen had warned Jo to keep out of the hunting life, warned her to stay away from Sam and Dean and she had warned Jo that the Winchesters would get her killed, just like they did her Dad. Ellen had been right. Ellen was always right, Dean smiled sadly. Why had he let them come with them to Carthage?

The body count Dean was wracking up and leaving in his wake was becoming too substantial for him to ignore. Pamela’s death had been hard to stand, the blame so clearly having lain at their feet. But now he’d dragged Ellen and Jo to their deaths too. And yet he was still here for some fucked up reason. All he did was screw things up and get the people he cared about killed. Why was he still here, when Ellen and Jo weren’t? He and Sam had started the fucking apocalypse for Christ’s sake. So Lucifer being out and Ellen and Jo being dead sat squarely on his shoulders. The only good thing about hunting was knowing that no matter the violence you succumbed to, the pure, bleak ugliness of the life, or the untimely end you would undeniably meet, other people, innocent people, people that hadn’t been touched by the evil stain that had somehow permeated Dean’s entire life, those people got to live. He saved those people. Except when was the last time he really saved anyone? The death toll of people he had gotten killed, directly or indirectly, was mounting and tonight he wondered, as he often did these days, whether he really did save more people than he hurt.

A few hours and a few too many beers later, Dean found himself being hurled out of the bar, for a reason, which in his drunken haze, he wasn’t entirely sure of. Though it may have had something to do with the incessant off-key karaoke and beer bottles that had begun flying towards him at alarming speeds.

Dean landed heavily and awkwardly on his knees, his open palms skidding roughly across the gravel of the parking lot. Thanks to the whiskey, the pain was yet to set in, but even in his drunken stupor Dean knew that he’d be more than a little sore in the morning.  _ Good _ , he thought. It was the least he should have to deal with after walking away from Lucifer with barely a scratch on him when Ellen and Jo hadn’t walked away period.

It took Dean a few attempts to get to his feet and once he did he swayed on the spot. He shook his grazed hand and sucked on the specks of blood that had begun to pool there. His mouth filled with the tangy taste of copper. In his line of work, Dean often experienced blood in his mouth, but tonight, whether it was the alcohol in his system or the added taste of sweat on his skin, the blood in his mouth reminded him of a few months back when Cas had bitten his split lip. Dean’s swaying ceased at the thought. His body went taught, his expression blank.

_ Cas, _ he thought silently, almost reverently. Dean let his hand drop to his side, a trickle of blood escaping from his mouth running down his lip and chin. Cas thought he was good. Cas thought he was worthy.

Dean recalled the way his blood had been smeared between their tongues that night. The way Cas had moaned as Dean licked roughly into his mouth.  _ Fuck, _ he thought shaking himself both mentally and physically. He hadn’t gotten laid in over a month, not since that waitress, Holly, back in Oakland and truth be told it really hadn’t gotten him off that much after that night with Cas. There was something about Cas. Maybe it was because Cas was a guy, and Dean hadn’t been with a guy for years. Maybe it was that Cas knew all of Dean’s shit, all of his baggage, all of his sins and that their time together didn’t have to be shrouded in a load of bullshit. Most of the time it was nice to be around someone who didn’t know what a fuck up he was, but that night with Cas had been rough and dirty and  _ real _ and there was just something about it that Dean had  _ needed _ . All he had to do was call and maybe Cas felt the same… or maybe he was busy. What did angels do at 2am anyway?

But  _ fuck _ , he needed to reign this shit in. That night had been a one time deal. This thing with Cas was too messy and too close to home and neither of them had even spoken about it since and he really couldn’t be fucking around with Cas for fucks sake, what was he thinking? He didn’t deserve the comfort or relief of it anyway. Not after Jo and Ellen.

“Dean, you’re injured.”

Dean span around, stumbling slightly, his swaying returning. “Cas?”

“What happened? Is everything okay?”

“What… yeah… S’all good. M’fine. The hell are you doing here?” Dean gestured clumsily around at the deserted parking lot, suddenly feeling rather exposed and paranoid.

“You’re drunk.” Cas observed, matter of fact. Dean couldn’t tell if he was irritated by this, disappointed or merely stating the truth.

“Yeah. Well, what’s it to you?” Dean muttered, a little too defensively as he brushed past Cas on his way to the Impala. Cas didn’t answer, but cocked his head to the side in confusion. Dean flinched at the tone of his own voice. He couldn’t help himself, anger was his natural defensive state. “Well? What’s up? What do you need?” Dean muttered, as Cas followed behind him to the car where Dean was fumbling with the keys, failing to unlock the door.

“What do I… Nothing. You prayed for me.” Cas stated indecipherably. 

“I did?” Dean’s hands froze. He hadn’t meant to pray to Cas, had he? “Right, I guess I did. How did you know where I was? You could have called.”

“I know I could have called, but you prayed for me, Dean” Cas stepped closer to Dean, brow furrowed. Dean rolled his eyes at the all too familiar lack of personal space. “Your prayer was unusual. It was indistinct, but there was a clear image of your location, so I came at once.” Dean placed his keys back in his pocket and looked up at Cas’s perplexed expression. “Where’s Sam?”

“At Bobby’s.” Dean replied, eyes now level with Cas’s, their bodies closer than they had any reason to be. Dean could feel the heat radiating off of Cas. He wondered if Cas somehow knew what he was thinking. He wondered if Cas was thinking it too. He wondered if Cas, in his awkward and struggling journey to understand humans and to understand Dean, was aware that this was an accidental booty call prayer situation.

“Are you on a case? Alone?” Cas asked, obviously still at a loss for why Dean had prayed for him and what he was doing drunk in the middle of nowhere. Dean laughed, a small puff of air escaping his nostrils.

“No, Cas.” Dean stepped closer to Cas, their jackets brushing one another, and waited quietly to see if Cas would understand. Dean told himself that this was it, this was the last time. He told himself that if Cas didn’t understand what he was doing at this moment, if Cas didn’t understand it or didn’t want it, then he would step away, climb into his car and wouldn’t entertain the idea of this thing between him and Cas again. Dean thought he saw Cas tense and his confused frown deepen. “Nevermind, sorry.” Dean lowered his head and stepped back, plunging his hand into his pocket, fishing for his keys.

“Dean, stop.” Cas gripped the lapel of Dean’s jacket and pulled him close again. He stroked his other hand up Dean’s ribs, tracing the fabric of his denim overshirt. Both men stood there for a moment, unsure of everything.

Cas brushed his hand up, gripping the back of Dean’s neck, and pulled him into a tentative kiss. The action from the angel was so unexpected it took Dean a moment to return the kiss, his own hands slipping beneath Cas’s trench coat, tugging at the angel’s tucked shirt. When Dean’s hands finally made contact with Cas’s smooth hot skin, he licked his tongue gently across Cas’s bottom lip. Cas responded with a barely audible moan. The heat of Cas’s breath sent desperate need and desire coursing through Dean’s body. Suddenly, the gentle touching and shy kissing was not nearly enough. Dean pinned Cas between his body and the Impala, sliding a leg between Cas’s thighs, as his kisses became more heated and rough. Dean needed to be overwhelmed, he needed to feel like he was good, he needed to feel like he could still be good for something. He knew immediately what he wanted and if he’d given himself a moment to consider it, the impulse would have scared him.

Without thinking Dean let his hands fumble with Cas’s belt, desperate to touch him, to be closer, to be overcome by sensation, to erase all other thought, to do just one good thing for someone who still might think he was worth a damn. As soon as Dean had Cas’s half-hard cock out of his pants, he looked up at Cas’s face. He hadn’t been able to meet his gaze last time, but this time he would. This time, he needed Cas to see him, to absolve him. Holding his gaze, Dean sunk to his knees in front of Cas.

Dean stroked Cas’s cock from base to tip, feeling Cas harden in his hand, the head of Cas’s cock grazing lightly against his cheek. Cas was rapt as he watched Dean hesitantly lick his plump pink lips before brushing them against the tip of Cas’s cock. Dean kissed his way down to Cas’s balls, gently licking and sucking each in turn as he continued sliding his fist up and down. Cas’s head fell back for a moment as he did this, but he soon returned to stare hungrily at Dean’s eyes that were still focused on his own, the green of his irises almost lost to the black of his dilated pupils. Dean pressed his tongue firmly against the underside of Cas’s cock and ran his tongue back up to the head. Only once precum leaked from the tip of Cas’s cock, coating Dean’s thumb, did Dean slowly slide his lips over the head.

Both men groaned at once, Cas at the sight of Dean’s mouth wrapped around him and Dean at the taste of Cas on his tongue. Dean lapped and sucked at the second dribble of precum, savouring every shiver and moan it elicited from Cas, before taking Cas further into his mouth, working his mouth up and down, up and down.

When Dean pushed Cas’s cock deep into his throat and swallowed around him Cas cursed, his words harsh against the silent night air, his hips bucking involuntarily. Tears streamed from Dean’s eyes and spit pooled at the corners of his mouth as he kept sucking and moving. Every time Cas would begin to moan louder, Dean would pull back and roll his tongue across the slit of Cas’s cock, teasing the head, before sinking his mouth down onto Cas’s throbbing dick once again. Dean didn’t ever want to stop. He didn’t ever want this to end. He wanted to gag on Cas’s cock over and over, so that Cas would cry out his name and the rest of the world would fade away until all Cas knew was the soft, warm wetness of Dean’s lips, tongue and throat. Every touch Dean wished to shower on Cas was worshipping and penitent. Every touch Dean longed for from Cas was rough and punishing.

When Cas’s hips began thrusting involuntarily and his moans grew louder Dean reached for Cas’s hands and guided them to the back of his head. At first Cas seemed confused as to what Dean wanted, so Dean used Cas’s hands to force his head down roughly. Suddenly understanding, Cas scraped his nails along Dean’s scalp and gripped his hair, thrusting into Dean’s mouth setting a hard and fast pace. As Cas’s movements became erratic, Dean gripped the backs of his thighs and he came with Dean’s name on his lips.

After a few moments, Dean reluctantly pulled off of Cas’s softening cock and Cas pulled Dean to his feet, kissing him and groaning at the taste of himself on Dean’s swollen lips. Cas gripped Dean’s shirt and pushed him against the car just as Dean had done to him, before reaching down to undo his belt, desperate to taste him the way Dean had just shown him. Dean’s hands shot down to grip Cas’s wrists and stop him from unzipping his jeans. Dean slowly guided Cas’s hand up his chest to wrap around his throat. Dean squeezed tightly around Cas’s hand before letting go. Cas let his hand drop, but Dean simply placed it back at his throat and held it there. 

“Cas.” Dean whispered. Cas’s brow furrowed in confusion as he studied Dean’s face. Dean kept one hand over Cas’s and with the other he unbuttoned his jeans. Cas used his other hand to reach for Dean’s cock, but Dean swatted his hand away. “Don’t.” Dean mumbled, slurring his words. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you think you are undeserving?” Cas asked. Dean spat on his other hand and began stroking his cock, shuddering at the feel of Cas’s hand on him. “Dean, you are deserv-”

“Cas, please. Just. Please?” Dean pleaded with Cas and once again squeezed his hand around Cas’s, wordlessly asking him to choke him harder. Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s throat just the way Dean wanted and refrained from touching him further, but Cas defiantly began to kiss Dean as he jerked himself off. Dean moaned into Cas’s mouth and knew he wouldn’t last long thinking about the way Cas had called his name as he came.

Cas knew what Dean was thinking and why he was doing what he was doing, or rather, why he wanted Cas to do what he was doing. Dean wanted to lose himself in pleasure rather than pain, but didn’t feel as though he deserved it and so he had to be punished for it as he did it. He had to be punished for what had happened in Carthage. Cas knew that was what Dean felt and so Cas obliged, eager to give Dean what he needed, despite the fact that Cas also knew that Dean wasn’t at fault and that he deserved some goodness to offset all of the bad that saturated his life.

So, Cas tightened his grip and pushed his palm roughly against Dean’s throat, but he made his thoughts clear by kissing Dean softly, each brush of his tongue against Dean’s lips working to absolve and forgive Dean for his imagined sins.

Dean’s vision had begun to turn black and spot at the edges, so that every electric stroke of his hand was intensified. The feel of Cas’s hand, possessive, punishing, rough and unrelenting, against his throat drove Dean over the edge. Cas released Dean’s throat and he came hard, panting and gasping, his forehead dropping to rest on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas kissed Dean’s temple, revelling in the mixed scent of beer and Dean’s spiced shampoo. Cas tucked Dean back into his jeans and re-buckled his belt.

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas asked, the question muffled by Dean’s hair. Dean exhaled quietly before replying.

“Yeah, Cas. M’good.” Dean stood there for a few more moments with his head resting atop Cas’s shoulder, reluctant to move. He finally felt empty, as though the whirling chaos that had been his mind since Carthage had seeped out of him. Finally, he lifted his head and clapped Cas on the shoulder awkwardly. “You good?” Dean asked, as Cas attempted to identify the reason behind Dean’s hesitance and concern.

“Yes, ‘I’m good’.” Cas repeated. His attempt at human assimilation drawing an amused smile from Dean. 

“M’tired actually. I think I’m gonna hit the sack.”

“But Dean, wait.” Cas reached a hand to Dean’s shoulder spinning him back around to face him. Dean raised an eyebrow in question. “Why did you pray for me, what was it you needed?”

“Cas are you kidding?” Dean laughed. “You know what - nevermind. I, uh, I guess you gave me what I needed, Cas. Thanks.” Dean smiled at him.

“Oh. Well, good.” Cas stated, his urgent concern having evaporated, but his confusion having only multiplied. Dean fumbled around with his keys, unlocking the Impala and stumbled onto the front seat. “You’re sleeping in the car? Don’t you have a motel room?”

“Nah, no room. Sleepin’ in the car.” Cas noted that Dean was still very intoxicated.

“I could take you back to Bobby’s.”

“Then my Baby would be stranded here.” Dean growled, his eyes struggling to remain open. 

“The car doesn’t look optimal for sleeping in, Dean.”

“S’fine Cas. I sleep in here all the time. M’good.” Dean mumbled, just before his eyes closed involuntarily and he either passed out or fell asleep.

Cas remained for a moment, appraising Dean’s scrunched up body twisted uncomfortably in the car that was too short to accommodate him fully whilst lying down. He wondered briefly at whether sleeping in such a manner was a part of Dean’s self punishment, before disappearing with a flap of his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please pleaseeee let me know what you guys think and leave kudos if you enjoy it! :) <3


	3. Wish You Were Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Season 5 Episode 16 'Dark Side of the Moon'.
> 
> Dean helps Cas through the revelation that God is out of the apocaypse fight. Cas helps Dean with his feelings about Sam's heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of the last episode having been named after a Pink Floyd album ('Dark Side of the Moon'), I named this chapter after another Pink Floyd Album and song 'Wish You Were Here'.  
> It's one of my all time favourite songs. If you haven't heard it - go listen before or after reading this chapter! You won't regret it - or maybe you will, what the fuck do I know? But go listen anyway! :D Lyrics below...
> 
> So, so you think you can tell  
> Heaven from Hell?  
> Blue skies from pain?
> 
> Can you tell a green field  
> From a cold steel rail?  
> A smile from a veil?  
> Do you think you can tell?
> 
> Did they get you to trade  
> Your heroes for ghosts?  
> Hot ashes for trees?  
> Hot air for a cool breeze?  
> Cold comfort for change?
> 
> Did you exchange  
> A walk on part in the war?  
> For a lead role in a cage?
> 
> How I wish you were here  
> We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl  
> Year after year  
> Running over the same old ground  
> What have we found?  
> The same old fears  
> Wish you were here

_ He just doesn’t think it’s his problem. _

Dean must be mistaken. Joshua must be mistaken. 

Cas stood limp in the middle of the dingy room, arms dangling by his sides. He stared blankly at the dirty beige curtains that were half pulled and only partly obscuring the flashing of the neon sign of the motel parking lot. He felt as though his limbs were melting into the floor beneath him. Unable to move and unable to form coherent thoughts, he simply stood. His mind was blank, bar the words that Dean had repeated to him this morning over the phone. They echoed in his mind, reverberating through his very being until all other thought was lost to him.

_ He just doesn’t think it’s his problem. _

When Sam and Dean had been returned to Earth, Cas had contacted them immediately to see what they had found out and whether they had succeeded in finding Joshua. The news was not at all what Cas had expected and it was certainly not welcome. Dean had sounded terse during the call and his tone had been accusing, as if it was somehow Cas’s fault that God was… what? Gone? Uncaring? Not quite as omnibenevolent as Cas had always trusted that he would be?

Dean had warned Cas that God was a ‘dead-beat’. Cas had turned the phrase over in his mind on many occasions, attempting to get to the bottom of what it really meant. Humans invented the oddest terms for things, he mused. Cas still wasn’t sure that he understood it’s origin, but in this moment he felt he at least now understood its meaning.

Cas felt the numb haze that had settled over him begin to lift as his fists clenched at his sides. God knows. He knows all of it.  _ He just doesn’t think it’s his problem. _ Cas had given everything to his Father. Every breath he drew, every command he followed and eventually gave, he did so for his Father. For His plan. Even Cas’s rebellion from heaven and alignment with the Winchesters had been because Cas had always truly believed in doing what was right and he had thought that God would approve of his choices. But God simply didn’t care. Cas had been a loyal son and an obedient soldier for millennia and now God was just going to sit back and watch the world burn. What was the point of it all? God was meant to be just. Jealous and fierce and punishing, perhaps, but merciful and just, above all.

God was far away and uncaring and Cas was lost. And so, he found himself standing in Dean’s motel room waiting for him to return from wherever he had disappeared to, most likely a bar or some den of iniquity, just so that he could hear it from Dean in person.

Cas’s rage boiled inside him. He was angry, but not singularly. He was angry, fearful, ashamed, bitter and vengeful - all at once. But it all fizzled back into a dull ache of disbelief and anger. And when the anger ran out, empty. He felt hollow. He wondered at how he could feel these things, these human things, and at how humans could feel so hollow and yet full to the brim with explosive feeling. Undisclosed, ambiguous and indistinguishable feeling. So perhaps he wasn’t angry, or empty, but full - of chaos and uncertainty. Since hearing those words he had been in a state of flux.

He tugged absent-mindedly at his tie, the scratchy fabric irritating his neck, noting briefly that the unwanted sensation was new and yet another sign of his distance from heaven and his own kind. The motion forced his consciousness back into his body and he began to pace back and forth, his shoes dragging on the musty brown carpet. He wondered whether the pacing was something his vessel had done and whether his growing humanity had allowed the urge to seep in, or whether the pacing was a learned behaviour from Dean - he had often watched Dean pace when stressed or angry. He walked over to the couch and slumped down onto it to wait for Dean to return, still pulling at his tie.

***

_ I just don’t look at family the way you do. _

Dean mulled Sam’s words over, the phrase tumbling out and lingering on his tongue, as he involuntarily whispered the words. 

He pictured Sam’s face as he had said it, strewn with guilt and pleading for Dean to understand, as they both stood on the concrete road under the night sky. Every good memory Sam had, every single one, was about getting away from their family - about getting away from Dean. Dean knew that Sam hadn’t known their mother, he really did understand that their childhood hadn’t been perfect, far from it, and that at least Dean had had a brief 4 years of apple pie suburban bliss with his mum and dad and baby brother, whereas Sam had only ever known life on the road. Dean knew this. He understood this. But the rejection still stung and the overwhelming loneliness that was his ever-present companion crept into him and scratched away at him, tearing at him leaving a gaping hole.

His grip tightened around the steering wheel as he drove, the wipers frantically flicking back and forth across the windscreen sending water gushing past his window. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alone. Dean had given his entire life to his family. He had followed his Dad’s orders and he had raised Sam. Even when he was just a kid, he had had to be a father, a mother and a brother to Sam. Sure, when he was young he may have complained now and then, but not for one second did he ever let up on his job. Not once did he ever give up on his family. All anyone ever has in life is their family, blood or otherwise, family is everything. You protect them, you love them and you die for them. Period. Dean had always given anything and everything for his family and somewhere along the way, whilst trying to keep Sammy afloat, Dean had lost any worth he thought he had ever had to begin with. His life had become about keeping Sam safe and if he had to die, for that to happen, then he would - hell, he had. Sam was better than him, he’d make more of life, do more, be more. Dean knew this. And yet, it stung. 

_ I just don’t look at family the way you do. _

Dean supposed that meant he’d done his job well - that he had raised Sam to be strong and loyal, but not utterly co-dependant and fucked up like he was himself. But with that being the case, and with Sam standing on his own two feet and not needing him anymore, where did that leave him? What was left for him? After all, Sam had betrayed him not long ago. Sam had traded him for the demon blood and the demon whore and not looked back until it was too late. His mum, his dad and his brother, all had left him in one way or another. Everyone did - why wouldn’t they? His worth extended so far as his ability to follow orders and kill monsters. Dean slammed a hand against the wheel, cursing loudly. He was such a child - self pitying and unworthy. He knew he wasn’t the same kid he was years ago when he’d picked up Sam from Stanford in the middle of the night. He was no longer the boy that would follow his dad’s orders, unquestioningly. He was merely indulging his pain and he knew it. So much had changed. He might have shaken his child-like adoration for his father, but in the course of doing so he had also lost his innocence. He’d lost it all. It had died somewhere way back with the rest of him in hell. The things he had done, the things he had seen, the man he was now - was something he could never acknowledge.

He shook himself and cursed once more. Joshua had told them that God was gone and wasn’t coming to the rescue and all he cared about were the memories that fuelled Sam’s heaven. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point he had begun to believe that Cas might actually find God and that maybe just once, they wouldn’t have to be the ones to save the world. But God was gone and he was left to clear up the mess.

He felt anger surge within him at Cas for making him believe, even just for a moment, that there was hope. But the anger died quickly - he knew he wasn’t really angry at Cas. He wasn’t even angry at God anymore - what would be the point, the dude’s AWOL. The truth was that he was fucking terrified. Terrified of being alone, terrified of the world ending, terrified of having to be the one to save it and terrified of the ever likely fact that he wouldn’t be able to. And when Dean was terrified, he masked it under layers of rage.

He pulled into the parking lot of the motel and slammed the car door behind him, dreading finding Cas in his room. He couldn’t deal with someone else’s disappointment right now. And he couldn’t deal with getting mad at Cas and lashing out when really he wasn’t angry at all. But he knew Cas was in there and he knew he had to go in.

***

Cas was sitting, slightly slouched and stock still, on the stained couch. Dean paused briefly, the scene before him prompting memories of the way Cas had been sitting waiting for him all those months back after the Djinn hunt. Dean’s anger fizzled at the sight. Cas had looked equally as dishevelled and troubled then as he did tonight, but then when didn’t he look that way? At least this time he appeared to be sober, Dean thought.

“Always sitting in the dark.” Dean stated, unsure of whether it was a question or not, as he dropped his duffel on the bed and began rummaging through it.

“What are we going to do now Dean?” Cas asked without looking up. The end of the bed dipped under Dean’s weight as he sat down and busied himself with disassembling and cleaning his gun, Cas’s question hung heavy in the silence, unanswered and unacknowledged. “We can’t stop Lucifer. It’s over.” Cas, brow furrowed, hands each resting atop a knee, allowed his gaze to settle on Dean.

“Nothing’s changed. Not really.” Dean replied gruffly.

“Everything has changed. God is gone.”

“Look around Cas,” Dean waved his hand casually in the air, though his eyes remained downcast, intent on his task. “God was never here.” 

Cas stared at the hunter, confusion and weariness seeping into him, quickly replacing his anger. “Dean-”

“The job is the same. Find the devil. Kill the devil. Did we really ever think God was gonna drop down to save us? When has that ever happened. We keep moving, we keep grinding - we do the job - just like we always have.” Dean was taken aback by his own resolve. Where had that come from, he wondered. He certainly hadn’t imagined himself coming into the room to give Cas a friggin’ pep talk, not after his depressingly enlightening trip upstairs. He thought about the dynamic between him and Sam; whenever one was a loose canon, a wreck, the other became their anchor. Perhaps this was the same - Cas needed Dean’s strength, that much was obvious, but fuck if being needed and wanted right now didn’t make Dean feel  _ good. _ Not just good - he felt like he could breathe again. He attempted to stifle that thought, unsure of how it made him feel, only acutely aware that it stirred uneasiness deep within.

Cas had no response for Dean, but he remained comforted by the hunter’s determination and the fact that his spirit didn’t appear to have been broken quite yet. “I rebelled. I thought it was what God wanted. Every choice I ever made since turning my back on my brothers and sisters was to find him and to do the right thing. Do the thing I thought he would want. The things he should want. But he doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t care.”

Dean snorted, thinking of his own dad and the way he had treated himself at times. “Welcome to the world of distant, absent fathers, their unattainable standards and their relentless orders.”

“Every choice I ever made was for him and his plan.”

“Those weren’t choices then.” Dean stated simply.

“What?”

Dean could feel the blue eyes of Cas’s vessel boring holes into the top of his head. “You haven't made any choices.” Dean repeated, looking up at him. Cas stared back blankly, prompting an exasperated and, though Dean would never admit it, an amused eye roll at Cas’s creased brow, the angel obviously working overtime to unmask the meaning behind what he had said. Dean couldn’t help but enjoy the way the angel’s head tilted slightly when he was struggling to understand something, finding the childlike mannerism oddly endearing. Even ‘Angels of the Lord’ could be stumped, Dean mused. “You might have stopped following orders, but you never really started making choices Cas.”

“But I chose to find him. And it turns out he’s just another dead beat.” Dean did a double take at his choice of phrase, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay.” Dean sighed. “So then it’s time to sever your last remaining ties with the God squad Cas.” Dean stifled a chuckle at the angel’s confusion over the term ‘god squad’. Dean was confident he would ponder over the meaning and comprehend it eventually. Dean repressed another smirk at the thought of it. “No one can tell you what to do, Cas. Plenty will try, but it’s just us out here. Just us and what we think is right.”

A quiet settled over them as Cas digested what Dean had said, the click clacking metal of Dean’s gun piercing the silence in the room.

Once Dean had finished cleaning the weapon, he double checked the safety and laid it gently on the bedside table. He glanced over at Cas to find him looking pensive and troubled.

“So heaven, huh?” Dean broke the silence, dragging Cas out of his disturbed reverie.

“Was it not what you expected?” Cas remarked, noting the tone of Dean’s voice.

“Not exactly. I mean, it’s just memories.” Dean lifted his arms in the air and let them slap back down on his thighs, as if unconvinced and incredulous. “No R&R, no Zeppelin concerts, no seventy-seven playboy bunnies.” Dean chuckled.

“Souls get to relive their most cherished moments.”

“So what? That’s a prison not a heaven. Where are the choices? Where’s the freedom?”

Cas had never considered this before. He had never considered the possibility that heaven might not be a perfect paradise and, well,  _ heaven _ , for humans. Intrigued he asked, “What were your and Sam’s memories, Dean?”

“The usual.” Dean shrugged noncommittally. 

Cas noted the way Dean tensed as he considered the question and the fact that he answered all too quickly. Like everything else of late, Cas wasn’t sure whether it was his fledgling humanity or simply his increasing proximity to Dean, but he was becoming more attune to humans’, or more truthfully just Dean’s, body language and reactions. “What is it?” Cas asked.

“What?”

“You saw something you didn’t like. Up there.”

“Cas, I saw and heard a lot of shit up there that I’d rather not have. Zachariah’s smug face and God’s little message wasn’t exactly what I’d call heaven.” Dean stood, frustrated with the turn the conversation had taken, and walked to the bathroom. He flipped the lightswitch and pushed at the tap, cupping his hands beneath the running water before splashing his face and dragging his palms down against his stubble. He needed a shave, he thought absently.

“Dean.” Cas pressed, sensing the real issue from the hazy thoughts radiating from the hunter’s turned back. “Sam’s memories - his heaven - shouldn’t concern you. He has made poor choices, but he is doing his best to atone.”

Dean closed his eyes and leaned forward over the sink, palms flat on the edge of the surface, allowing droplets of water to run down his face and wet the collar of his shirt. His fingers tightened their grip on the porcelain tiles. He grimaced as he recalled the sting of discovering that Sam’s best memories were the ones that didn’t involve him - memories that were far, far away from Dean and their family. A stream of thoughts barraged Dean’s mind and rocked through him. _Am I really that much of a fuck-up? Did he need to get away from us that badly? He really doesn’t need me._ _So fucking alone. Always so fucking alone._ He grabbed the towel that sat next to the sink and rubbed roughly at his face, to wipe away intrusive thoughts as much as to dry himself. When he turned he found himself face to face with Cas.

“Cas, personal spa-”

“You’re not alone, Dean.” Cas reached his hand, brushing a thumb hesitantly against the side of Dean’s cheek, studying the man’s reaction.

Dean froze, eyes flitting across Cas’s face, his body tense under the angel’s scrutiny. Dean saw what he thought was lust in his friend’s eyes, but something else also, something new. Dean had been about to joke with the angel about his personal space as he so often did, until Cas had broken the invisible barrier between them with skin to skin contact. Cas had never been the one to do that before, Dean thought. It had always been Dean, drunk and desperate. And so he remained dead still. Waiting. His gaze flicking between Cas’s eyes and lips.

Cas leaned closer, his eyes fixed on Dean’s, as their lips met. Cas started off soft and slow as Dean remained still. Cas peppered kisses on the corners of Dean’s mouth, along his jaw and back to his lips, willing him to respond.

Dean wasn’t sure of the last time someone had touched him this tentatively. Whenever someone was this close to him it was either to kill him or to fuck him, not shower him in feather light, reverent kisses. He wanted to pull away from the intimacy of it all - it would hurt all the more when it was gone, but he couldn’t will himself to move. Instead, his body betrayed him as he kissed back, gingerly at first, until the need for more of whatever this was he was feeling began to take hold of him and his kisses became demanding.

Dean’s mouth responding to his made Cas suddenly hungry for more - to give more. He licked his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, learning from the way Dean had done it to him before. Dean’s tongue responded in kind and his mouth parted, allowing Cas entry.

Cas pushed roughly at Dean so that the backs of Dean’s thighs pressed against the sink, withdrew his lips from Dean’s and sunk to his knees, hands undoing Dean’s belt.

“Wha- Woah, Cas. You don’t have to-”

“Dean, please. Let me.”

Dean looked down at his friend, hesitating. He still wasn’t sure whether Cas wanted this or understood this - can angels feel lust or desire? Seconds passed by, neither man moving, until Dean had assured himself that all he found in Cas’s expression, who was looking imploringly up at him, was want and need. Dean gave a slight nod of his head and Cas continued his work, unbuttoning Dean’s jeans and tugging them halfway down his thighs.

Cas kissed and licked Dean’s growing cock until Dean’s moans echoed in the motel bathroom. Dean’s head fell back as he clutched the edge of the countertop, his fingers blanching at the force of his grip. Cas drew his tongue from base to tip, swiping it over the head, catching the first bead of precum, groaning at the salty taste of him, sending a hot puff of air and low vibrations down the shaft of Dean’s cock. Finally, Cas wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock and while holding his tongue firmly against the throbbing vein on the underside of Dean’s dick, he sank back down to the base. 

Cas continued like this until his jaw and throat ached, not knowing what he was doing, but trying his best to emulate what Dean had done to him previously. He had one hand switching between grabbing at Dean’s ass and massaging his balls and the other clutching Dean’s thigh, revelling in the feel of his taut muscles flexing beneath his palm. In that moment, Cas lived for every moan, gasp and drop of precum he could elicit from Dean. Knowing that he could make Dean feel so good, make him come undone like this, was intoxicating and addictive. He would have continued like this for hours if Dean wanted him to - if Dean let him. Cas would have stayed on his knees, his lips wrapped obscenely around Dean’s thick cock forever, giving anything Dean asked of him and devoutly receiving everything Dean gave to him.

Dean’s hand moved to the back of Cas’s head, his fingers entwining themselves in his hair and tugging and pushing gently, his hips beginning to buck involuntarily, his head flung back, his mouth open as his moans turned to choked grunts.

Cas found himself pulled abruptly to his feet, the sound of his mouth leaving Dean’s cock producing a pornographic pop. And then Dean’s mouth was on his - wet, warm and hungry.

“Dean, I wasn’t done. Please.” Cas breathed between kisses, as Dean shrugged his trench coat off of his shoulders. “Please, Dean. I want to taste you.” Dean growled at Cas’s needy pleas and the taste of himself in Cas’s mouth.

“Want you to finish too, Cas.” Dean said as he dragged Cas back with him to the sofa, ripping off the angel’s suit jacket and tie.

The backs of Dean’s knees hit the couch and he fell into his seat, pulling the angel with him so that Cas straddled Dean’s meaty thighs. Dean made quick work of Cas’s belt and reached for Cas’s cock, springing it free. Dean then swiftly rubbed his hand up and down his own cock, gathering Cas’s spit and his own precum for lube, spat into his palm, sealed his hand around Cas’s cock and began to jack him off. He kissed, sucked and bit at Cas’s lips, neck and collarbone - at any exposed skin he could find until Cas’s dick was red and throbbing like his own and Cas was groaning and grinding against him. Dean used both hands to hold their cocks together and jack them off at the same time.

Dean came first, panting. “Shit. Fuck. Fuuuck.” His cock twitched as thick pearly ropes of cum coated their cocks. 

Dean continued pumping Cas’s cock, staring down at his cum lubing Cas’s cock, making lewd squelching noises rivalled only by Cas’s increasing moans. Cas’s body tensed as he came all over Dean’s hand, loudly chanting Dean’s name before collapsing forward on Dean’s shoulder.

They sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, coated in cum and sweat.

As Cas pried himself off of Dean and stood to clean himself, Dean did the same, noting briefly that this time he had been stone cold sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something fucking brilliant occurred to me the other day when I was watching Season 5 Episode 20 'The Devil You Know' and I had to share with you guys.   
> Crowley tells the boys that he stuck a magical coin to the underside of the Impala that allows him to track them and eavesdrop on them... which means that if you take this fic as fitting into canon, then Crowley heard Dean and Cas's drunken exploits in the last chapter. Explains a lot as to why Crowley loves to tease Dean about Cas throughout the series... and maybe even why Crowley is so obsessed with becoming Dean's new 'BFF' (or maybe more?) in season 10??!


	4. Lost Hope and New-Found Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Season 5 Episode 17 ‘99 Problems'. 
> 
> Dean loses hope, whilst Cas finds somewhere else to place his faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to spend time recapping the plot of the episode within the chapter - I thought that would be kind of redundant. 
> 
> I've used timestamps throughout the chapter to indicate when in the episode things are taking place, hopefully they make sense and aren't too jarring - let me know in the comments!

_18 minutes 56 seconds:_

_It must be hard - being the vessel of heaven and having no hope._

Dean hadn’t known it himself until Leah had said it, but it was true. He had no hope. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure he’d had any hope since they’d sprung Lucifer free.

Not that it mattered. He was still going to put up a fight, wasn’t he? That was what he did. What he had to do. What people expected. What everyone needed him to do. And it was always about what everyone needed him to do. It was never about what Dean needed. It had never been that way. Dean didn’t know what that way would even look like, he wasn’t sure he’d ever let himself even consider it. His own needs, even his own basic awareness of his needs, had been drilled out of him from a young age and he’d never quite managed to claw his way back to them. Dean’s needs extended only so far as needing Sam safe, needing his mum back alive, needing his dad not to have sold his soul for him, needing not to be a part of some biblical pissing contest between two angelic douche-wad brothers, needing Lucifer dead and needing Michael gone. 

It had always been about keeping Sam safe and Dean had made peace with that a long time ago. For Dean, keeping Sam safe had become synonymous with living or breathing; it was a state of being. And five years ago, the only solace Dean had ever found in dragging Sam away from college to hunt with him, was that they were actually starting to be brothers again. Hell more than starting - they were brothers again. And Dean wasn’t so alone. But then hell had happened. And Ruby had happened. And now the apocalypse was happening. And Dean was somehow more alone now than the night he watched Sam leave him and his Dad for Stanford.

Dean lay limp on the motel bed gaze fixed on the ceiling. A garish picture frame was mounted behind him disguising a large crack that had slithered its way from the back of the headboard up to the ceiling, ending in an ominous blue-black damp patch directly above him. 

_No hope._ The words rang clear through him, once again.

Dean allowed his eyelids to fall shut as he involuntarily let out a deep sigh. He ran a calloused hand up through his hair and slid his palm back down over his face. She was right. What were they even doing here? The world was about to end.

The things Dean has done, the things he’s seen - he knows the truth now; there’s no good, there’s no evil, it’s just chaos and power and destruction, just greed and pain. And it’s everywhere. And it’s winning. And he can’t stop it. 

This wasn’t one of those times he could reason with himself. One of those times where he could begrudgingly sit through an angry pep talk from Sam about how the world’s worth saving. He couldn’t tell himself to keep swinging even though that’s what he’s always done and that’s all he’s ever known, because the truth was right there in front of them all. They were at the end of the line and he was at the end of a rope that should have come for him long ago. He had tried - he had really tried. When he’d told Bobby that they might not have much, but that he did have a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude, he had said it for Bobby’s sake, but he had wanted it to kick start that fire in his belly. But it had only served as a half-assed attempt at fooling himself and he had never really had any hope. For a while that had been fine, because if ever Dean lost hope, at least he had some fight left in him - he always did. _Never give up. Go down swinging._ Those words seemed hollow to him now.

There had been moments in the last year when he’d thought he’d had glimpses of hope. Like when they had found the colt and shot a bullet through that jumped-up cosmic monster’s face. Ellen and Jo had even died to get him there, but it still hadn’t worked. Lucifer hadn’t even flinched.

Dean knew the only option left to him. It was obvious. It was Michael. He had resisted it for Sam’s sake and for Bobby’s sake. He had resisted it because he wasn’t going to commit to the destruction of half the planet. He had resisted it because angel’s are dicks, so screw doing anything they ever asked him to do. And he had resisted it because of those fleeting glimpses of hope. But he knew there was never truly any hope to begin with. And now? Well, now, he wasn’t sure he had any fight left in him either.

For the tenth time that day, Dean briefly toyed with the idea of calling Cas. Again. The bastard hadn’t answered any of their calls since they’d returned from heaven. The thought of seeing Cas right now ignited a flicker of _something_ in Dean. Something distant and faint, but _something_. Even smack in the middle of this sick, shitshow of an apocalypse, at least Dean still had Cas. Rationally, Dean had always known that there was no way that Cas would ever have found God. If the dude gave one crap about the planet he’d have shown his face by now. Though Dean would never admit it, the very fact that Cas had faith, even though Dean himself didn’t, was enough to keep him going. Because if Cas still had faith, then maybe Dean was wrong and maybe Cas was right. And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, they’d catch a break. And if not, then at least there was Cas. An angel on your shoulder, as beat down and un-angelic as Cas had become, had to count for something in the midst of the apocalypse.

Every direction Dean turned recently, he found himself muddled knee deep in shit, but somehow, with Cas in his corner, it made things more tolerable. For the first time in a long time, maybe even for the first time ever, it felt just a little bit like the whole world wasn’t resting solely on his shoulders. Cas had a way of sharing some of that burden, so that Dean wasn’t a big brother or a son, or the chosen vessel - he was simply Dean. Cas allowed him to just _be._ And fuck if that wasn’t simultaneously the most terrifying and freeing feeling Dean had ever known.

Dean looked up as the door to the motel swung open. Sam strolled in removing his jacket. “Where’ve you been?” Dean grunted.

***

_21 minutes 36 seconds:_

Castiel sat slumped against a wall in a sunken heap on the floor amidst bottles that had been sent sprawling in several directions when he had fallen, tinkering against the tiled floor as they rolled. He wasn’t sure how much of the stock he had drunk now, but by the looks of the store there wasn’t much left. He’d been sitting there, limbs weak and fuzzy from the affects of the alcohol, for the better part of an hour. Apparently that was long enough for a fallen angel’s hangover to begin kicking in, despite somehow still being drunk. Cas couldn’t be certain, but from what he understood the hangover was meant to come after the intoxication, not during. He sighed, tugging at his tie to loosen it’s noose-like hold on his throat, his fingers fumbling, his arm dropping to his side, sending another bottle skidding across the store. There was still so much he didn’t understand about humans. How did Dean drink so much, he thought idly. Did he always feel like this after he did? Cas’s head was throbbing and the store was spinning beneath him, over him and all around him. He placed a clammy palm flat against the floor to steady himself. 

Cas had also thought, though he now realised that he had been mistaken, that humans drank alcohol to help them forget their troubles. However, ever since he had begun downing whatever liquor bottle took his fancy, he’d found that all he could think about were his troubles. Perhaps he was doing this whole ‘bender’ thing all wrong.

God was gone. God knew what was happening and he didn’t care. God wasn’t coming back. The revelation had knocked the wind out of him. In that moment Cas had never felt so human. Once the initial shock had subsided, the anger had set in pretty quickly and pretty violently. God was good. God was his father. God was everything. And yet, he ‘just doesn’t think it’s his problem.’ But the worst was yet to come, because once the rage had ebbed away, all that was left was a distinct lack of hope. Cas had lost all faith. What was he meant to do now? What did the world want from him? Why would God bring him back just to abandon him? Cas was loath to admit that at this moment in time, he missed the days where he was a soldier of heaven and he knew what heaven required of him. He missed the certainty that provided him. But he knew that following the righteous path was more important than avoiding what he now recognised as an existential crisis. And heaven certainly couldn’t provide him with a righteous path. What heaven wanted of him was to shut up and do whatever they said, regardless of the consequences of their orders. Heaven wanted him to be their weapon, a tool, a hammer. But Cas was not a hammer.

Not for the first time, Cas found himself wondering why he was not like the other angels. Why did his brothers and sisters not see what he did? Why didn’t they have doubts? Why was he becoming so _human?_

Cas looked down at himself. He was slouched on the floor and stinking of liquor. He knew why he was becoming more human. It was because of Dean; the righteous man - humanity’s bedraggled saviour. It wasn’t about doing what the world wanted of him, what his father wanted of him or what heaven wanted of him; it was about doing what was right and doing what needed to be done. Dean had taught him that. Dean was everything that the angels had been told to love about humanity, but had never managed to actually understand. He embodied everything that they were meant to serve. Minus the booze, the debauchery and the lack of faith, Cas acknowledged wryly.

Cas’s anger returned to him then. God had created these fragile, broken things and then disappeared. How - _why_ \- would he abandon them like this? Why would he abandon heaven? All this time Cas had thought that there had been right and wrong, plain as day, etched in black and white, but then Cas had realised that heaven couldn’t tell the difference, or simply didn’t care about the difference. Cas hadn’t been carrying out divine goodness, he’d only been carrying out orders. He knew now that right and wrong was about so much more than orders and destiny. God had to know this, Cas thought. God had to know that heaven had been corrupted, rotting from the inside out, tainting everything it touched. God had to know because God created it. He created angels and humans and pain and suffering. If he was only going to leave us all here to flounder, then why create it at all? Saying it was because in order to do good there needs to be bad, or that in order to reach happiness there must be sacrifice was all well and good in theory, but in practice, down on the ground, on the battlefield, that suffering wasn’t hypothetical, it was real. And it was everywhere. And God wasn’t the sorry bastard that had to endure it.

Cas longed to stay as he was, hunched over, stewing in self-pity, but guilt had begun to creep into his being at the thought of Dean. Cas hadn’t answered his calls for weeks. He hadn’t seen the point and, truthfully, his pride had not let him. He wasn’t ready to see a repeat of the all-knowing ‘I told you so’ look in Dean’s eyes now that they knew that God was gone and had no intention of returning. Now that they knew they were alone in all this.

“Screw heaven. And screw God.” Cas muttered, thinking that Dean would say something along those lines. Cas stumbled as he pulled himself to his feet. Sam and Dean were just two humans and they had done more for Cas than heaven ever had. Two weak, broken and flawed humans, fighting for the world no matter the odds. 

Dean would know what to do. Cas was tired and angry and very intoxicated, but he had found his faith. Not in God, but in Dean.

Cas fished out the phone from his pocket to check his messages. A very long, very trying message from Sam awaited him.

***

_30 minutes 17 seconds:_

Dean wandered out of the motel room into the fresh night air. Cas was sitting on a bench, arms resting on his knees with a deep scowl on his face. He looked like utter shit, Dean thought. Cas’s tie hung loose around his neck, his top buttons undone as he rubbed his fingers back and forth across his forehead. If it wasn’t for Dean’s hopelessness, he might have found the whole situation somewhat amusing; a dishevelled and hungover fallen angel sitting on a bench outside his motel room. On a bender he’d said. _A bender._ How did he even know what that was, Dean mused. He supposed Cas may have picked up a thing or two from him with regards to dealing with emotions.

Dean stood quietly, his back to the closed door of their room, unsure of whether Cas was aware of his presence. Looking at Cas now, Dean felt his stomach drop. What little hope he’d had left, evaporated and deserted him. Even Cas had lost faith. There was something about seeing Cas so low, so downtrodden, drunk and lost as he was, that simply crushed Dean. Dean’s dwindling hope died in him then and there. He knows now what he has to do and the truth is he just doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t feel angry or sad, he’s just done. Cas’s bender was the last straw. Dean was going to say Yes. But first, Dean was going to get Cas some Aspirin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's no smut in this chapter, if that’s your thing. I kind of don't picture the boys hooking up again until Season 6, but I wanted to use a few key moments in Season 5 to explore some of the reasons behind Dean and Cas's feelings for each other. I personally don't think they're in love (yet!), they just have a lot of respect for each other and haven't quite realised that they are beginning to fall for one another!
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Next chapter will take place just before the Season 5 finale.

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any issues with cannon or contradicting the show - let me know and I will do my best to fix it!
> 
> I endeavour to update regularly - so please let me know what you think and if you liked it! :)
> 
> Special thanks to my boiz King Kunta and James for all their notes, edits and support <3


End file.
